


Making Friends and Influencing People

by bearonthecouch



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Amestrian-Typical Racism, Gen, Learning Differences, Making Friends, Military School, Really Just Friendship (But There Could Be Romantic Subtext If You Squint Really Hard), Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 23:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15302103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearonthecouch/pseuds/bearonthecouch
Summary: He spent most of his childhood in a brothel and the rest of it in the crumbling manor of an isolated alchemist who talked even less than he does. So he’s not great with talking. So what?





	Making Friends and Influencing People

“So do you talk, or what?”

The boy sitting on the bunk across the room looks up, tracking Maes’ every subtle motion with dark eyes. Maes is sprawled out on his stomach on his bunk, pushed up on his elbows, watching him.

“I’m just saying, if we’re gonna be roommates, it’ll be _weird_ if we never talk.”

The boy shrugs. His black hair falls into his face as he moves.

“It’s Roy, right?”

His head moves in a way that might be a nod. Maes decides to take that as a yes.

“Okay, Roy. Look, I… wait. You speak Amestrian, right? Is that why you don’t talk?” How could he have ended up in the _Amestrian Military Academy_ without speaking Amestrian?

“I speak Amestrian,” Roy says. There is a slight hint of ‘are you stupid?’ in his tone, and Maes grins.

“Well, that’s good. I’m just asking because you look-” Roy _glares_. Maes snaps his mouth shut. For half a second anyway. He never was good at keeping his mouth shut for long. “I think it’s cool if you’re Xingese. I’ve never met anyone from Xing.”

“I’m not _from_ Xing,” Roy insists. “I’m from Central City, same as you.”

Except they are _not_ the same, because Roy’s here as a charity case, a scholarship student who earned his way in only because of his half-decent skill with alchemy. And he’s definitely not here to make friends. He glares at the other boy. Maes Hughes, his new roommate, who looks at him with barely-concealed pity because not only is he Xingese (half-Amestrian, according to his aunt, but he doesn’t look it and it’s never mattered to the full-blooded Amestrians who look down on him for the shape of his eyes and the color of his hair), but he also looks half-starved and lacks social skills. He spent most of his childhood in a brothel and the rest of it in the crumbling manor of an isolated alchemist who talked even less than he does. So he’s not great with talking. So what?

Maes rolls over onto his back and rests his hands on his stomach as he stares at the room’s low ceiling. “So what do you do for fun, Roy who is not from Xing?”

Roy bites his lip as he thinks about the question. It takes him a surprisingly long time to realize that he doesn’t really have a good answer. Alchemy. Spycraft. Shooting at bottles with Riza Hawkeye (Also skinnydipping with Riza Hawkeye. Pretty much anything with Riza Hawkeye.) But he’s aware that most of those answers will make him sound like a freak. This other boy already thinks he’s a freak. Plus, he’s not honestly sure if he finds those things _fun_ or if they’re just the things that make the people around him happy.

“Hell, kid,” Maes says (Roy is a few months younger than Maes, at the _most_. He grinds his teeth at being called a child) “It’s a good thing you’ve got me as a roommate. I’ll make sure you have as much fun as it’s possible to have in military school.”

Roy studies Maes again, while trying not to be obvious. They will have to go to dinner in nine minutes. Maybe then Maes will stop talking to him.

“You know how to play poker?”

Roy snorts. Of _course_ he knows how to play poker. He learned how to play poker when he was five. He nods, and Maes grins his obnoxious grin. “Perfect!”

Roy takes out one of his history textbooks and sets it on his lap. He bites his lip as studies the first page. He is a slow reader and a slow writer ( _not_ because he doesn’t know Amestrian, it’s the only language he’s ever known, but just… because). His aunt had never cared about his grades so long as they weren’t so low as to get him kicked out of school. Master Hawkeye had been the first person to point out that “slow” was not the same thing as “incapable” and that plenty of things worth doing took a long time. Besides needing to pass a written test to be a State Alchemist, alchemy has very little to do with reading and writing, as long as you can comprehend the inner workings of things. And Roy is plenty good at that. Shooting guns also does not require high test scores. So the military is plenty willing to accept him. And he can struggle through the reading because he has to. It’ll be worth it in the end.

Maes rolls off his bunk, pulling his uniform jacket on over the undershirt he’s wearing. “I guess we’d better go to dinner. I wonder what we’re having. Maybe it’ll be lamb stew. I think I heard someone say something about lamb stew.”

“We still have four and a half minutes,” Roy points out.

Maes raises an eyebrow. “It’ll take at least three minutes to walk to the canteen. And I want to get a good spot in the line.”

Roy puts the book down on his bed and follows Maes. Maes does not stop talking to him when they get to the canteen. In fact, he insists on introducing Roy to a table full of other cadets. They all look at him like he doesn’t belong, though no one says anything overtly aggressive. Roy eats quietly. Roy does almost everything quietly. It’s one of the reasons his aunt loves him so much, he can sit in a room listening to _everything_ , and no one knows he’s there unless he wants them to.

After dinner there’s a mandatory study hour. Roy reads his book. Maes complains loudly about the essay he’s supposed to be writing. Roy glances up at him enough to notice that he’s written maybe three sentences, if that. He keeps his mouth shut.

After the study hour, after it’s gotten dark, there is a knock on the door to their room. Roy raises a questioning eyebrow at Maes. The other boy opens the door, letting in several of the cadets from dinner. Malcolm. Liam. A girl named Ariana. By the time they’ve all stopped arriving, there are five people in the room besides Roy and Maes. There isn’t enough space to fit them all comfortably. Nobody seems to mind. They are all talking and laughing, and Roy looks helplessly at Maes. Liam sits down on Roy’s bunk without asking. Roy glares at him while Ariana pulls out a bottle of cheap vodka and opens it, taking a deep swig before handing it to Maes. He drinks too, grins, and hands the bottle to Roy.

Roy has had alcohol before ( _Obviously_ . He grew up in a _bar_.), but this is different. He runs calculations in his head, wondering if it’s worth the demerits if he gets caught. Wondering if he is really this desperate to fit in. He takes a drink, and smiles. Maes grins back at him.

They play poker. Roy wonders if any of them know just how obvious their tells are. Maes is actually pretty good, Roy’s only true competition. It is supremely satisfying to end the night with his new roommate owing him several thousand cens.

The next day, they’re out on the shooting range, listening to a drill sergeant scream at them as they lie side by side with rifles in their hands. “I’ll bet you two thousand cens I get a bullseye and you don’t,” Maes says, pitching his voice just low enough to be heard.

“You don’t owe me enough money?” Roy retorts.

Maes grins. Roy rolls his eyes. He thinks that having a roommate is infuriating and also that it fills a space in his life he didn’t even realize was empty.

Maes pulls the trigger a split-second before the fire command and the sergeant tears him up for it. He does hit the target. Roy doesn’t.

“Two thousand cens, Roy.”

Roy finds his rhythm after the first couple of shots, and ends up in the middle of the pack, ranking-wise. Which is not bad for his second day.

That afternoon, during their free period, Maes is still hovering at his heels. Roy raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to the gym.”

“Show me some alchemy.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m curious.”

“You must have seen alchemy before.”

“I have never seen alchemy from a person who makes me curious.”

Roy holds his breath. He is not even quite sure what that _means_. But he nods. He pulls a stick of chalk out of his pocket and draws a circle on the concrete floor of their room. He throws a handful of coins into the middle of the symbol, needing the metal. Then, he kneels next to it and puts his palms on the ground, watching the familiar surge of light crackle up in front of him. When he takes his hand away and the light dies down, there’s a knife on the ground. He glances up at Maes.

“That’s pretty cool,” Maes admits. He picks up the knife and tests it on his finger. It draws blood, and he hisses at the pain, then sticks his finger in his mouth.

“Idiot,” Roy mutters.

“You could’ve made something less dangerous.”

“You haven’t learned not to play with weapons in _military school_?”

“Shut up.” Maes sits down on his bed and pulls off his jacket. Roy has already noticed that he never wears it unless required.

“So is your curiosity satisfied?” Roy asks, heading over to his own bunk.

“About alchemy, sure,” Maes says, kicking off his boots. “About you? Never.”

Roy freezes. “I’m really not that interesting,” he insists.

“I don’t believe that for a second. You’ve got that look in your eyes.”

“ _What_ look?”

“Like you’ve got some grand plan. Most of the people here are just… hoping to make their families look good, or whatever. That’s not you.”

Roy sits down on his bed. “Is that you?” he asks pointedly.

“A little bit, yeah. This was my dad’s idea.”

“But you don’t hate it.” Roy’s only known Maes for a day, but he can already tell that much.

Maes shrugs. “There are worse things. And there are perks to being a military officer. Job security. Good pay.”

“The respect of the people?”

“Sure. If you go for that kind of thing.”

Roy shrugs. In his experience, it doesn’t seem likely that most people in Amestris will easily respect him. And his aunt is ambivalent toward the military, and his teacher outright _hates_ it; he has told Roy repeatedly that the military will only ever twist alchemy toward horrible ends. So what the hell is he doing here?

“Is it weird to say that I just want to protect people?” Roy asks quietly (He thinks about Riza as he asks the question. What’s that about?).

“It’s idealistic,” Maes replies. “It’s kind of cute.”

“You’re an ass.”

“But you love it,” Maes teases, and Roy nods, because the other boy is right. Maes snorts. “Haven’t you ever had a friend before? Cripes. That look in your eyes, you’re like a stray puppy.”

“You do know I’m an _orphan_ , right?”

“Yeah, I’d heard that. So what, orphans don’t have friends? Who taught you how to play poker? You cleaned me out last night.”

“I grew up with my aunt. She owns a bar.”

“That’s… that’s _badass_. I bet you get all the free drinks you want, huh?”

Roy rolls his eyes. “Maybe I’ll introduce you when we get a weekend pass. She’d like to meet my… friend.”

Maes grins. “So, we’re friends already? That took less time than I thought.”

“You’re pretty convincing,” Roy admits. “And I might be somewhat desperate.”

“Well, you made a good choice,” Maes tells him, seriously. “I am a very loyal friend.”


End file.
